


Found

by hulklinging



Series: Sleep Cycles [1]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (he got better but everyone's still a bit messed up by it), Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Multi, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8824843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hulklinging/pseuds/hulklinging
Summary: Even on another coast, sleep sometimes evades Gansey.But insomnia is more bearable with company.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "My nightmares are usually about losing you."
> 
> I can't handle these three, I really can't.

There's something strange about being reborn.

He tries to puzzle it out, on nights where sleep evades him. Is he sleeping less now because trees don't need to sleep to dream? Or in some way has he always been this, Cabeswater heart and approximation of a boy, which explains why he was never good at sleeping to begin with.

It makes his head spin. He gets a new journal and fills it up as they make their way across the United States. Not Glendower this time, although some of the pages are borrowed from that notebook, now retired. No, this time it's their own story. Ravens and kings, still. But also fast cars and warehouses made homes. Caves and corpses. He writes about Persephone and Jesse Dittley and Noah Czerny and REMEMBERED. He has Whelk's 'MISSING' notice and a newspaper article on Greenmantle's death. He dedicates pages to Niall Lynch, his wife and three sons. He draws the floorplan of 300 Fox Way.

He doesn't write about Kavinsky. Some things (fire, and what will happen to Ronan if they don't find Matthew in time, the Pig totalled) are better left forgotten. As a historian, it has taken him a long time to realize that.

He sketches the correct way to tie a toga, a court date, hands held over the gear stick. He's not very good, but he likes it. He's always thought of himself as a witness, when it comes to creativity and art. His little figures make him think maybe that's another thing he doesn't have to be.

The last few pages are dedicated to Henrietta itself. He cannot bring his cardboard miniature with him, so he draws it instead. The map spreads, sometimes interrupted by jotted notes and streets from a another nowhere town in another state, one they pass through and Gansey thinks about all of the people there, the ones who are Ronan-like or Adam-like, Gansey-like or Henry-like, who never found each other and will never know what they're missing.

He doubts anyone there is Blue-like. People like Blue only come to be in places like Cabeswater and 300 Fox Way.

They're somewhere near Seattle, and it is almost late enough to be early again. Gansey is trying to sketch Robobee, who is kindly sitting still for him, perched on the windowsill to catch the streetlights. He's so engrossed in the work that he doesn't hear the sound of covers being pushed back until Henry is right behind him.

"Three," he whispers, reverent and unreal in the pre-dawn air.

He doesn't say anything else for a while, just watches as Gansey traces the lines of the physical embodiment of his thoughts with the utmost care. It makes Henry's head spin. Gansey knows him well enough by now to know that words are the last thing to wake within his friend, and so they sit and watch the world wake up beyond the window.

"You didn't get to sleep at all?" There's nothing accusing in Henry's tone, just something soft and a little sad.

Gansey shakes his head. "I'll still be fine to drive, don't worry."

"That's not what I was worrying about." He perches on the arm of Gansey's chair, sinking in enough that he needs a hand on Gansey's shoulder to steady himself. The hand burns, and this is a conversation they will have to have eventually, when they have all slept and when the stars are still out. For now, Gansey opts for the easier topic.

"It's nothing new."

"Is it..." Henry hums, a single held note that means he's searching for the right word. "Nightmares?"

Gansey shakes his head. "It's more like there's too much noise in my head."

"Ah, the struggles of a genius," Henry laments, and Gansey smiles. The conversation falls to pieces, but pleasantly. Gansey finishes his sketch. The sun rises.

"It's nightmares for me."

Gansey's eyes snap open. He hadn't been asleep, just basking in the early sun and the warmth of the body beside him.

"You get nightmares?"

That hum again. Gansey feels it more than hears it, vibrating through Henry's body.

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about them?" It feels cliche, even as he says it, so he reaches out to grab at Henry's hand, hoping that the intimate gesture makes up for the lack of finesse.

Henry laughs quietly, aware of Blue still sleeping in the bed closest to them. Henry is always aware of them both, where they are and how they're feeling. It's part of why they asked him along, why it hasn't felt at all awkward to be a three on this trip, even with Gansey and Blue also being a two.

"Lately? My nightmares are usually about losing you."

Gansey winces and thinks of roads to nowhere filling with blood. "I'm sorry." He knows the others dream about it too, feels guilty for missing the worst of it, the way Adam's voice broke when he talked about how they carried him to the side of the road and crumpled around him, his casketbarers, his court. "I think Maura has a tea for bad memories, we can ask Blue-"

"Not on the road," Henry says. His free hand has come up to play with Gansey's hair, gentle and calm in a way his voice is not. "I dream about that too, but that's okay. I know how that ends. No, I dream about the cave."

Ah. That makes more sense, once Gansey takes a moment to think about it. The cave, everything Henry feared, and he himself disappearing into it, into something that should not even be there, maybe wasn't there for long. He had never asked for specifics on how they found him, whether the opening in the old house disappeared behind him, how Henry met up with the others. It's something he should have asked, something he will ask, once the sun has come up enough to banish even the most stubborn of shadows.

"You found me."

"I don't always, though."

Gansey stares at Robobee, afraid to look over at Henry. Afraid of what he'll see in the other boy's face, and what Henry will see in his own. He clutches his hand tighter still.

"You _found_ me."

He tries to say it with the conviction that showed him the way to Glendower, that makes skeletons awake. He says it like there's no other answer.

Henry is silent, but he returns the pressure, leans heavier into Gansey like he's finally letting himself sag. They sit there long enough for Blue to wake, dragging the blanket with her as she shuffles over to them.

"Are you brooding?"

"No, you missed the brooding," Henry replies. "We're cuddling now."

"Good," she says, and takes over the other armrest, head on Gansey's shoulder, legs draped over his lap, hand resting on Henry's arm.

If either of them notice when their King silently drops off, neither of them say anything, just share a fond smile over his sleeping head.


End file.
